Part 25 (1/2)

”That awful Mr. Splinx, he got my kiltie.”

”Teh, tch, Cameera sweetie, you know it's, not s.e.x with Splinx-at least, Doc says it's not.

Sometimes I wonder. Now look, you can't run around like that. Couldn't you get your skirtie-I mean, your skirt?”

”He threw it over the intercom and I couldn't go close!”

”I see. That figures. Well, get Jim to get it for you-he's on the floor.”

”Oh Mr. Benedict, I couldn't talk to Mr. Eisenstein like this!”

”Huh? Oh, so.” Benedict squinted at her. ”Is Jim a married man? No, he's not. Here, take my lab coat and run along out now. Wait! On your way back get me another batch of standard small s.h.i.+pping packs from Supply, comprenday?”

Two men and a woman had come into the office. Benedict waved at them shouting ”Jackie honey, get some sandwiches and coffee, will you? You folks eaten? Oh, any kind, it's all roast cardboard. Hal, you look like trouble. Shoot.”

”T.B., I want to make sure you're briefed for that meeting with the Budget Bureau tomorrow. I'm afraid they're quite serious about a twenty percent cut on our alien panel.”

”Gautama B. Buddha, how do they expect us to function without a full panel?” Benedict exploded, ”What're we supposed to do for the public, guess? You know we only have a sixty percent coverage of current transferpoint life forms as it is.... Sorry, Hal, it's not your fault. What should I do?”

”Well, the inside story I get from Timmons over there is that they're getting pressure from this anti-alien organization. They keep yelling about hundreds of monsters being maintained in luxury at the taxpayer's expense. Seems somebody got hold of a food bill with caviar on it.”

”That's be Freggle. What do I do?”

”Well, I've prepared two alternate proposals, which technically comply with their reduction. I won't go into them now, except that one complies money-wise, by adjusting the budget to get past the current fiscal year. After the elections, who can tell? The other complies by reduction of permanent personnel-wait, T.B.-while actually retaining them in various temporary and consultative slots.

Considering contract expiration dates, we can avoid actual loss of any panel members for five months. I'll be in to go over them with you before the meeting.”

”Hal, you're a genius. Chester?”

”T.B., we have got to develop a little counter-pressure. Of course it's not my business, but I'd like to poll our s.h.i.+ppers and see if we can't work up a group who endorse our service.”Benedict sighed. ”Ver-ry ticklish, soliciting public support from inside the government. Well, maybe, Chester. But very easy. A poll, comprenday?”

”Understood, T.B. Now look, I have to warn you that the annual report is going to be a couple days late again.”

”Again?”

”That computer foul-up we had last month really hurt. We've been working unpaid overtime to reconstruct, but there's still a lot of incomplete and miskeyed case actions. Frankly, T.B., one big trouble is right here in your office. We've cross-keyed your bank every way we can to catch the original records but that doesn't do any good if you don't turn it on. I know how you feel, but... by the way, it doesn't seem to be transcribing now.”

Benedict wheeled around to his input transcriber bank, gave it a glare and slammed the switch to On.

”Dammit, how can I talk to human beings with that thing going? All right, I'll try, I'll try. Mavis, any woe from you?”

”Not really, T.B., just the usual. Two cases of nostalgic apathy, one case of addiction to lunar lichens, and some sort of psychic disturbance Dr. Morris hasn't been able to pin down yet with the Altairean. Doc says to tell you if you have to use Altair, call him first.”

”Is he still able to function? Altair is getting new branch lines, we're bound to need him.”

”He's all right, but Doc says, he has to get him in the mood first.”

”How does he get him in the mood?”

”With movies. Old Westerns. The horses seem to perk him up. Only thing is, there mustn't be anything disturbing happening to a horse. Doc has been previewing them nights, he says he has saddle burns.”

”Give him my love, Mavis. Tell him I have some June Lovebody Creme for his burns. And listen, ask him to do something about Splinx and this undressing business, will you? He got Cameera's skirt today.... That all, everybody? 'Bye.”

”Don't forget you're speaking to that Alien Nutrition meeting tonight right after work, Boss,” Jackie called through the open door as they trooped out. The phone chimed.

”Exceegeecee... oh, h.e.l.lo, Marmon. Got that list of differences?... Nothing but a turret lathe, eh?

Used on them all? Well, that shouldn't do it. Now tell me, have you figured personnel changes?... What?

Look, Marmot, I said everything. Don't you count people as anything? People. They handle the product, don't they?... I can't help your records. Are the people the same?....Well, try to look.... Yes, I have reasons. My reasons aren't definite, but they're good enough so you better look. I'll call you back in about an hour and maybe I can give you a better idea what to look for. But get those records so you can make sense when I call. Comprenday?”

He flicked the phone. In the momentary silence the transcriber bank hummed officiously. Benedict gave it a mean look, slammed the Off switch and rested his head in his hands. The phone chimed.

”Exceegeecee... yes. h.e.l.low Mr. Tomlinson. Sure I remember you, you s.h.i.+p those miniclimatrons way out past the Hub. Fifteen transfer points-indeed, I remember you, Mr. Tompkinson. Most complicated clearance we had since... What's the problem?... You've found a cheaper s.h.i.+pping route? I see-yes, you certainly do need a new clearance. How many transfer points this time- thirteen? That new Lost & Gone station?... Yeah, we have to clear your product for those life forms there-my problem is that we haven't been allocated a panel member for Lost & Gone yet. I believe they're pretty uh, recherchay, too, some kind of energy-matrix. No telling what your unit would do to them, or vice versa.... Yeah, I realize you're losing money every time you s.h.i.+p by the old route, but Mr. Thomason, the public hasn't given us the money to bring a native from there yet. If you don't want to wait, the best thing is a government test trial s.h.i.+pment at your expense. I'm sorry. We monitor the s.h.i.+pment and testingprocedure. We'll need a representative-I mean, an absolutely typical sample of your product.... We went over that before, Mr. Thomason. No changes?... Oh, a little change. You didn't notify us. You've been taking a chance, Mr. Thompkinson. Well, we'll catch it now, but that means a recheck of the whole route.... Yeah, we'll send you a cost sheet on the trial s.h.i.+pment to Lost & Gone tomorrow, say for ten units? If it goes through, yes, you can route them on to consumer, but we don't guarantee they'll go through. You could easily have trouble in your circuits with those energy-beings-probably need some nonconductive pack. You wouldn't want to work out a pack first, would you?... I thought not. Well, it's your risk, Mr. Tinkerson, I've warned you. We're not responsible for loss or damage, that's on record now. But we'll do everything we can.... Sorry you feel that way. Right.”

As he flipped off, Benedict glanced guiltily at the dead transcriber bank and banged it to the On position.

Jim came to the speaker screen, holding one of Marmon's black boxes.

”T.B., I think we've got a series. Freggle got cooperative and we've pinned down the unknown and two more. Working with the serial numbers as chronology, sample of five hundred, it adds up thusly: neutral; mild euphoria, type A; boredom; mild euphoria, type B; intense s.e.x interest; intense dejection; intense homesickness. The last two types were what really threw Freggle, but the s.e.x one is no better-he won't touch it, just giggles. The homesickness type carries right through to the last number we tested.... Identification? Not too good. Probably young, maybe female by a slight edge. Earliest number that's neutral-AGB-4367-L2.”

”Thanks Jim, thanks. That really helps. Jackie! Get me Marmot, I mean Marmon.” He bounced his chair. ”h.e.l.lo, Mr. Marmon? Benedict here. Got those lists? I think we've found your trouble. First, though, can you place the date of manufacture of a unit from its serial number? Well, roughly will help.

Now: what you have to look for is a new employee, out of town-maybe foreign-hired about the time when, let's see, AGB-4367-L2 went through. Got it?... This employee maybe female, less probably male, likely is young. At first she-or he-was happy and interested, then bored, that's normal. Then she-or he-fell deeply in love.... Mr. Marvin, I'm not joking.... Wait, let me finish. Anyway, this employee got rejected, see? Off-chance the loved one died or moved away, but chances are they rejected your employee. Employee goes into a deep depression, almost suicidal, then starts violently longing for home. Got it?... Why? Marble, where have you been? You've hired a transmitting telepath.

And this telepath is using your product as a K-object.... No, never mind that-the net effect is that every unit you process is impregnated with this emotional transmission, comprenday? Any life form that receives picks it up. That's what knocked over the Candlepower crews. This stuff carries a big jolt, you've got a strong sender somewhere in the works who's very, very unhappy. Probably young, doesn't know they're a Para. Comes from some place where there's no testing station.... How do you find her or him? Well, one small clue-it's evidently someone who handles every one of your products, at least all those you gave me.... Do? Get hold of them and send them over to the Para-P Bureau! They're wasted with you, for Pete's sake.... Well, if they don't want to go, and they have a contract, either get them fixed up love-wise, or keep them away from the product-and I mean far away. But I think you'll find they'll gladly s.h.i.+ft to Para-P when they find out; better pay. Matter of fact, you call Para-P, talk to Ilyitch there.

Tell him Benedict says you have a strong sender. They'll help you. Right?... I-l-y-i-t-c-h... No, I can't help you with that pile-up on Candlepower, Mr. Marvel. I told you, best thing is to get an itinerant crew down there to move it. Nonsensitives.... Well, I warned you that was the best course. Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, too. We try. Right?”

Benedict dropped his chin to his fist, scowling at the humming transcriber bank. Outside, the sky darkened. Quitting time, and he had that speech to make. The phone chimed.

”How do, Mr. Oldmayer. Benedict speaking.... Well, didn't my office send you the forms? It's simple, really, you just send the forms back with your sample packs and we check them through our alien panel according to your routing.... What special problem?... Yes, I'm afraid you do have to have a clearance, Mr. Oldenham, music is one of our more sensitive s.h.i.+pping problems. You get actual damagewith some life forms. It's a question of packaging.... I realize it's turned off, but you'd be surprised how things get accidentally activated in transit, especially with a long route like that.... Yeah, well, get hold of a good soundproofing firm and have them work out a m.u.f.fler. Maybe you don't have to do the whole box, just the audio part, right? And the power pickup, nonconductive, right?... I know it's a nuisance, Mr.

Oldershot, but that type of equipment can start picking up and sending suddenly and then there's h.e.l.l to pay. Conditions in transmission are for from Earth-normal, you know. We had a case where a beam-powered front-end-loader started operating spontaneously in the transit station on Piccolo Two, and they had to close the station for two years.... Well, you get the wrap designed and we'll be expecting you, right? 'Bye.” As he clicked off, the aqua-clad form of Miss Boots tottered into the room, towing a loaded lab truck.

”Mr. Benedict, what'll I do with these three thousand gas-things we tested on Mr. Freggleglegg?”

”You can't leave 'em here, Boots, take 'em to Supply and tell Willi to make the owner pick 'em up.

Marmot. Do I have to hand-feed that man? You look beat, Bootsie. Some kind of day with Freggle, was it? Did Cameera get her skirt?”

Miss Boots nodded Wearily, towing out.

”Some days,” Benedict muttered, rooting in his files. ”Where's that dumb speech? Jackie!”

”We have to close up now, Mr. Benedict,” his receptionist said from the doorway. ”You know what Hal said about overtime.”

”Right.” Benedict grabbed a file and slammed his desk shut. ”Turn off the lights, Jackie. Let's go...

holy entropy, what's that?”